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This review will be short. This book should only be experienced, in my humble opinion, with as little knowledge as possible surrounding it. It is a masterpiece. It is spectacular, and subtle, and much like those it pays homage to, you can’t appreciate the complexity until you’ve raced through it, starting blind, slowly learning with our main character(...s?), until you’re left with a technicolour explosion of a tapestry that will make for the finest wall-decoration for the kinds of folks who like to figure these things out as they go.

(You will need post-its, pins, and red thread. No, more than that.)

Aiden Bishop awakens at Blackheath every day. He is a different person every day, his consciousness inhabiting a different guest of the Hardcastle family. He has a mission: solve the murder of the Hardcastle’s daughter, Evelyn, who will die tonight. She will die every night, unless Aiden can identify her killer. The phrase “all is not as it seems” is probably the understatement of the century here, but this book is layered perfectly, question over answer over more questions. A palimpsest, a word I’ve come to be extremely fond of after its use in another novel I loved and reviewed, The Wayward Girls.

Seven Deaths is hard to fully get your hands around to hold up to anyone else. You can’t tell them what it’s about, because if you tell anyone what a murder is really about then you’ve half-spoiled the thing. You can’t tell them anything that happens, because it only makes sense in context, and you can’t try giving any context, because, well…You see the problem. This is far from a criticism of the book - its ability to defy discussion, even recommendation, is integral to its mastery - but sometimes it’s hard to recommend a book to someone simply by waving it at them and making emphatic gestures, even if that waving and gesturing comes from someone firmly raised on Golden Age mysteries. Perhaps this review can suffice, trying to sum up everything while giving away nothing, ending up tangling in on itself while trying to follow the weft and weave of Turton’s genius.

While other works of Shannon’s have been on my TBR before, Priory is the first of hers I’ve read. It’s my return to epic high fantasy after a long absence, and I can’t say I’m disappointed. Far from it, in fact. This book rattles with its own intensity, the stakes for each character, the rising romance and drama and the freefall towards devastation that builds all the way until about book five of six (for context, the huge 800-page novel is split into six smaller “books”).

I adored Priory. This review will likely be tragically short in an effort to avoid spoiling some of the fantastic reveals and brilliant storytelling, but for now I’ll discuss the things I loved so much about it without revealing too much.

Our four narrator characters are brilliant. They are flawed, messy, human and devoted. Ead is a secret mage tasked with protecting the Queen of a foreign nation; Loth is a kind and devout young man with much responsibility and too sweet and authentic a heart for the puppeteering courts he finds himself in; Niclays Roos is a bitter and jaded old alchemist with a deep core of darkness and a fierce hunger in him; and Tané is a 19-year-old striving to prove herself and take up the mantle of an honoured dragonrider. All four of them work to bring the rich world of the novel to life, each from a different background, with different goals, all eventually clashing and - perhaps, if the greatest evil is to be overcome - aligning.

I’ll briefly touch on the diversity in Priory. Of our four narrators, two (Ead and Tané) are female; both are also women of colour (Ead is black, and while Priory does not take place in our own world, Tané’s home of Seikii shows clear parallels with Japan). Niclays is the only white narrator, and he is gay; Loth is black. Ead and Queen Sabran are both lesbians, and for those who, like me, fall on the aro/ace spectrum, Tané’s arc has no hint of romance, and there is a strong case for aroace Tané. Not only do we have diversity, but well-written diversity too (I know that you can have all the representation you want, it’s not really worthwhile if it’s all terrible). Shannon draws on both Western and Eastern mythology for this fantasy epic, split between two great worlds of the East and West, divided by a vast sea known as the Abyss. Yet within the hemispheres there is conflict and diversity, Seiiki and the Empire of Twelve Lakes in the East, and the various states of the West - Inys, Mentendon, Yscalin, Lasia, Hróth…

One of the greatest aspects of Priory is the way it interrogates history and genre. A story of a queendom ruled only by women, passed down from mother to daughter for a thousand years, sounds feminist until you realise there is more below the surface. When a queendom is passed unfailingly from mother to daughter, everything suddenly hinges on a woman’s ability to give birth - and how feminist does that sound now? There is also the brilliant weaving of conflicting histories, and how those histories have shaped the world as it exists. Institutions that are founded on a single principle, says Priory, will invariably corrupt everything around themselves to maintain that course, even when new evidence says otherwise. When those who claim to know the truth still operate with only half the story, even they can see the real truth as a threat to the status quo.

Not wanting to pick up another book and brand my 2022 reading a two-for-two of DNFs has meant I haven’t really read in six months. I did not want to finish this book. It sat on my bedside table like a piece of set dressing, collecting dust, seven chapters in and I was loath to pick it up again. But what is it that’s so bad about this book?

Well, let me tell you. It is utterly devoid of heart. It is a book so concerned with cynicism, with belittling others, with being removed and aloof and bitter, that it removes any fun it might have had. I wondered if, perhaps, the use of an ableist slur twelve pages in meant that this book wasn’t for me. Maybe, I thought, trying to be generous, it was from the early 2000s, some time where the R slur got thrown around casually without thought for its actual cruel ramifications. Where the hatred of disabled people was challenged only really by disabled people themselves, where the publicity surrounding not being a fucking monster to minorities was nowhere near what it is today, where the “woke mob” is decried every time someone famous and beloved is revealed to be a fucking monster.

Unfortunately, this book was published in 2014.

And it only got worse from there. Aside from the frankly disgusting way the protagonist talks about women - any women, as often as possible - there’s also the use of transphobic slurs and casual discussion about if a gay man with social power sexually assault the male protagonist, he should just smile and not make a fuss. It’s funny! Queer people existing - trans people, gay people - are actually a way to show off how weird and not like good old Blighty the USA is. Queerness is a side-effect of modern-day image-obsessed celebrity culture, and considering how bitterly and viciously this book rails against the progression of the world through technology and social media, it is distinctly not a positive thing.

Now, I know. Books do not have to be moral. Protagonists can be horrible people, I know. I’ve read books with horrible protagonists, and loved them. This book felt like a gut punch, over and over. How far did I make it into it? Seven and a half chapters. I reached a point where I realised I wasn't enjoying myself, and I did not need to martyr myself to this bitter and dull piece of shit book for the sake of proving that no, I do understand that flawed protagonists exist and can be good to read. I have a Masters degree in literature. I am required to prove nothing to no one, thank you.

BELOW ARE JUST A FEW OF MY “”FAVOURITE”” PASSAGES. THESE WILL BE MISOGYNIST, ABLEIST, RACIST TRANSPHOBIC AND HOMOPHOBIC, AS WELL AS CONTAINING A MENTION OF SEXUAL ASSAULT. IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO READ THEM, PLEASE SKIP TO “FIN”.

“It made Asperger’s cool” (page 11)

“You’ve made that whole area, you know, boys who are inadequate, your own.” (page 11)

“No one wants to publish another book about sensitive retarded boys” (page 12)

“It’s about a sensitive adopted boy of mixed race with learning difficulties who’s good at football and believes his real father might be a Premiership footballer” (page 12)

“He picked at the wrongly hinged boy in the wheelchair whom Minerva had pointed out” (page 71)

“Viscid filaments stretched between his lips” (page 72)

“The boy’s eyes swivelled and his buckled fingers clawed the air” (page 72)

“His teenage son is a tranny” (page 76)

“He’s as gay as bunting, and if he cops a feel of your bum I want you to promise me you won’t make a fuss, OK? It won’t come to anything.” (page 77)

FIN

It was at this point, having slogged through ableism and transphobia and more misogyny than would be practical to list in the above section, but trust me, this protagonist is an incel through and through, than I threw the book down. I had only picked the damn thing up again after months of not touching it because I was waiting for my phone to update and couldn’t be asked to get out of bed on a Sunday morning to go to my laptop. What a vile, sad, disgusting little book. What a waste of ink, what a waste of my time and money.

There is one, final thing I’d like to touch on, before I hurl this mistake of a book to the winds. It’s less…skin crawling, shall we say, than the rest of the above bullshit. But it hurt me very personally, in ways different to how the ableism and homophobia and transphobia hurt me.

I do LARPing. For those who don’t know, that’s Live Action Role Play, like a renfaire or cosplaying your own OC, but with plot and worldbuilding. I run LARPs and I play them. They are tremendous fun, and require a level of unabashed love for what you’re doing, authentic and honest and joyful. I love fantasy in the same way, the way it is so often unabashed that yes, the evil in the text can be defeated and we will come home, the world saved but we irrevocably changed, but we won, we won, we won. Fantasy is a genre of pretending and refusing to allow that to be strangled out of you by common sense or grown up nonsense. Mal Peet does everything he can in this novel to strangle it out of me. He is cruel and dismissive. Murdstone calls Tolkien “pretentious escapist nonsense”, as if The Lord of the Rings was invented out of nowhere so Tolkien could feel clever about himself, as if there isn’t a rich history of fantasy being written in reference and reverence to texts that have come before that goes all the way back to Beowulf and beyond - a history I have personally studied at university. Books, and fantasy, is all capitalistic nightmare foolishness, according to this book. The publishing industry churns out only what sells, and writers write only what sells, and there is no joy or authenticity in it, only cynicism and money.

It’s no wonder I quite literally tossed it aside 77 pages in.

Mal Peet, I’m sorry your protagonist is so much smarter than the rest of the world. I’m sorry that this book was marketed as a fun romp through fantasy tropes, something that I picked up hoping for just that. And I am so, so sorry that it led to me not reading anything for six fucking months because I thought I should at least have the decency to try and finish it.

To the bin with it. I move on to better things.

Verdict:

I will start with the positives.  Firstly, the novel sets up a fantasy China in succession crisis after the two daughters of the Emperor – one destined to become the first female Emperor – are snubbed for their male cousin.  Murder, court intrigue, magic and politics abound.  The sisters are a dichotomy, elder sister Lu confident but brash and younger Min a shadow of her.  There are conflicts with “pink skinned” Ellandaise foreigners who are an analogue for the British, and the parallels of the Opium Wars are clear and apparent.  The worldbuilding of The Girl King is rich but not overwhelming, the magic interesting, the peoples of the vast empire culturally distinct but feeling realistically like what happens when a ruling dynasty takes over most of a continent.  I loved the way that siblings Nokhai and Nasan, both oppressed people whose cultures were destroyed and their people slaughtered by the Imperial forces, held Lu to account as she fought for her throne back, reminding her that all her bargaining tools – offers to return their lands to them and withdraw the Empire – come from the oppressive power of the Empire in the first place.  The novels take a firm anti-Imperial arc for the majority, even with the two titular characters being heirs to this empire.  Nokhai, the gentle healer boy running from his past, was easily my favourite character.  I loved his struggle with his people, how he thought everyone was dead and where that leaves him when it suddenly turns out that some may yet live and, even more tantalising, that he might be able to restore their animal shapeshifting magic to them after the Empire wiped it out.  A character who didn’t want to lead, doesn’t know what to choose, feeling so separate from yet being so integral to his people, was great to read.

There’s also the topic of representation to bring up.  I’ve been trying to read more diversely for a while now, and non-European fantasy is one of the things that first drew me to this duology.  From the glittering robes and palaces of the capital to the magical mountains of the far north, the Empire of the First Flame certainly inhabits a beautiful, rich world.  As a white reader, the descriptions of the foreign Ellandaise was certainly a welcome change from so much western fantasy, where all foreign diplomats seem to be some Orientalist amalgamation of China, the Middle East, and North Africa.  There are a couple of queer characters who show up in secondary roles – Ohm/Omair and Nasan especially – and the shamaness who tends to Nokhai and helps teach him discusses her life as a trans woman with him, which I especially loved to see (more casual trans rep in media, please.  I felt so comfortable going forwards after her introduction).

Unfortunately, all this good stuff can’t save this duology.  The cracks begin at the end of The Girl King, which, while definitely a book I enjoyed and would recommend, shows some of the issues I have with the writing later on in Empress of Flames.  As our main characters travel north to the hidden, magical city of Yunis, they spend a long time on the road, and the city itself receives buildup in the prologue told from the perspective of its three rulers and in the rumours at court and on the road about it.  Once we get there, however, little is actually done with Yunis.  Within a few chapters it is blown out of the sky by Min’s corrosive magic, two of its three rulers are dead in an instant, and its people are decimated.  While this could have been a great way to set up the antagonism between the two sisters and raise the stakes for their final clash, but it…doesn’t.  Instead, the march south to the Immaculate City, the Empire’s capital, is remarkably short compared to how long it took to get to Yunis beforehand.  Nokhai, who survived his plummet from Yunis at the end of The Girl King, is spending time with some shamanesses at the beginning of Empress of Flames – maybe I just didn’t notice them, but…I don’t think they were set up at all?  His journey with them is cut short when he decides to go and help his sister Nasan and Lu, who he has feelings for.  Fine, but he seems to have too much control of his new shapeshifting powers too soon, with little payoff.  Once in the capital, the back-and-forth with Min and Nok losing and gaining their magics, the conflicts with the Ellandaise foreigners, and Lu’s struggles with politics and ruling seem weightless.  Empress of Flames is shorter than its predecessor, but so much more happens in it that nothing is properly developed.  Brother, the eerie monk who was using Min for her magic throughout The Girl King, is killed with little ceremony in Empress of Flames with half the book still to go.  The Ellandaise seeking to take over the Empire doesn’t come out of nowhere, and there are moments of setup for it, especially in The Girl King, but it feels massively underdeveloped in Empress of Flames, with the stakes shifting so wildly in the novel as the Ellandaise’s Dust of Annihilation, a kind of magic bullet that makes a person burst into flames when shot, seems to be the biggest threat facing them Empire, then is promptly ignored by characters in ways that don’t feel realistic.

If I’m being honest, I feel this series could have done with being a trilogy.  The Girl King itself is fine, but Empress of Flames is trying to do too much and doesn’t quite manage any of it.  Min’s potential tragic descent into being a truly fantastic villain is curtailed and then seemingly wiped out (though I admit, she is like. 13 and I didn’t finish the book, but still).  Personally, I would have preferred book 2 to follow different paths: Nokhai’s learning of magic and coming to terms with the abuse from his father with the shamanesses, Lu and Nasan heading south to the capital, raising support and listening to the rumours of Min’s reign filter through the common folk, and Min’s struggles with her vicious magic, her court and her own inexperience and instability, culminating in the Ellandaise seizing power at the end of book 2.  From there, there can be an uneasy alliance, Nokhai rejoining the group with his powers in tow, and a truly terrific final clash.  Ultimately, however, Empress of Flames for me was a slideshow of plot points that never quite felt whole.

Despite not finishing the duology and having numerous issues with the pacing and development of the conclusion, I would still recommend this duology to people.  Not every Asian-inspired fantasy series is Avatar: The Last Airbender, but I would definitely say that people who grew up with that series and enjoyed the fraying relationship between Zuko and Azula, or the complex politics of Azula’s moves in Book 2 and the end of Book 3, would get a lot out of this duology.  I will also put as a disclaimer that I am remarkably picky about what I read, and just because Empress of Flames didn’t do it for me, doesn’t mean it won’t be a fast-paced conclusion to a brilliant duology for someone else.

Verdict: a fantastic setup that stumbles disappointingly with its half-hearted payoff.  Adored The Girl King but DNF Empress of Flames about two-thirds of the way through, at the beginning of Part Two.  Recommend for people who like their fantasy empires to come with a healthy dose of interrogating the imperial violence that created them, and for a rich and engaging writing style about a beautiful and divided world.

The Girl King: 8/10

Empress of Flames: DNF, 3/10

I have chosen to start off with one of the most magical and impactful fantasy stories I have read in recent years: Children of Blood and Bone (2018) and Children of Virtue and Vengeance (2019) by Nigerian-American author Tomi Adeyemi. The first two novels in a planned trilogy, Children of Blood and Bone was Adeyemi’s debut novel and it is phenomenal.

Set in a Orïsha, a fictionalised Nigeria-continent where the population is split into diviners, who can channel divine energy and become maji, and non-magical kosidán.  The novel opens with maji being severely oppressed by King Saran.

This is a powerful series, perfect for fans of Avatar: The Last Airbender who want more stories about uprising, elemental powers and complex narratives.  We see complex and conflicted ruling royalty in both Princess Amari and Price Inan; we have an amazing bender-sister and nonbender-brother relationship between Zélie Adebola and her brother Tzain.  While these are certainly Avatar-like traits that might draw in a potential reader, this isn’t all the series is. Avatar is very much a children’s show; here, there are discussions of colourism, class, gender and which side of the conflict is right: while the violent oppression of maji is never excused, the characters are forced to confront the danger that maji can pose with their incredible - sometimes terrifying - powers.

The series draws on Yoruba and West African mythology and faiths, and establishes the multi-layered, dangerous world the characters inhabit beautifully. Each of the maji clans has a different god that grants them their gifts, from dead-summoning Reapers to animal-communicating Tamers.

Tomi Adeyemi is a sweetheart and an absolute blast on social media. She’s a fantastic sign of new talent in the publishing industry and I’m so excited to see where she goes from here.

At the moment I haven’t read CVV, with university work and then lockdown hindering me, but it came out last winter so if you can get your hands on these two – DO IT! This is planned to be a trilogy so things aren’t finished yet.  Adeyemi has also challenged comparisons that called her ‘the black JK Rowling’, preferring ‘the new JK Rowling’, pushing for her writing to be given the independent respect it so richly deserves.

This was a fantastic read. Taking place in 1612 Lancashire, the novel follows 17-year-old Fleetwood Shuttleworth, mistress of Gawthorpe Hall and desperate for a living child.  She encounters a strange local woman, Alice Gray, who promises that she can deliver Fleetwood’s latest pregnancy successfully.  Fleetwood’s mysterious new midwife is later accused of witchcraft and sent to trial.  Between all of this, Fleetwood’s pregnancy is advancing, the Pendle witch trials are approaching, and the men in power locally are pushing more and more viciously for the punishment of wise women and apparent witches in an effort to court favour with the fanatically anti-witch King James I.

Women’s safety throughout this novel is constantly at risk: those who have no title, no lands, no husband, turn to midwifery and herb crafts to make their living – but this leaves them vulnerable to accusations of witchcraft.  The highborn women like Fleetwood seem safer, privileged, but that safety is compromised the moment Fleetwood begins to act outside of the will of her husband and the other men around her.  All Fleetwood wants is to be a good wife to her husband and mother to his heirs, but the appearance of Alice Gray in her life draws her desires from these more traditional goals to those that threaten her life, all for the sake of a woman she barely knows.  The accusations between the imprisoned witches, the relationship between Fleetwood and the other women she encounters – her mother, the wives of the noblemen around her, the wives and daughters of the men supposedly cursed by the accused – preoccupy much of the novel.

Halls discusses the violence done by those in power in order to increase their authority, the privilege afforded to women by class and wealth, and the fragility of this privilege when Fleetwood starts pushing back against the arrests.  I found this neatly portrayed on the outside as well as the inside: Fleetwood’s mission, for a baby and for justice; the want for an heir; the strange witches’ familiars that have been appearing across Lancashire; the secrets her husband keeps from her and the lies and accusations levelled by women at one another in order to secure their own safety.  Symbols of these are scattered across the novel’s cover, but all are bound up by the huge noose: a reminder the danger of being a woman; the punishment for witchcraft.

Verdict:

An atmospheric blend of historical past with new fiction.  Fleetwood is an uncertain heroine, young, headstrong and fearful, but her devotion to a woman she believes is innocent make these qualities her greatest strengths.  Quiet but insistently feminist, Halls’ novel leaves readers with a question: what does it mean to be guilty in a world where the word of law is written by a man’s fear and fury?  And what is Alice’s innocence: that she wasn’t a witch, or that she wasn’t a murderess?

Birds of Prey is truly one of the greatest movies I have seen in a long time, and this is after having seen some fantastic competition.  Finally, a Harley movie that actually cares about her as a character, as a person, that shows off all the things that makes her great and somehow doesn’t have to make her the film’s sole lead to give her the space she needs to perform.  She’s naïve, excitable, an emotional rollercoaster in a pair of rollerblades and the most delightful not-quite-villain to watch on screen.  Harley has broken up with the Joker and set out on her own, but she never forgets the clown look she is so known and loved for.  Where so many Joker depictions try to show of the madness of clowns, the scary side to make the Joker a formidable villain, Harley Quinn is joyous.  She’s a jack-in-the-box with a rocket launcher, pigtails and smiley-face mallet and maniacal glee in every bit of mayhem she causes.  Yeah, in her own words, she’s not a good person – but you want to be her best friend anyway because you can’t help but love her. Every outfit was sexy but not sexualised, all about Harley’s wild self-expression and not about how much of her ass could fit into each shot; you can feel that this was directed and produced by women; created by women, a project loved by the women behind it. There’s enough emotion to make you really feel for the characters despite the comedy, but manages to flip effortlessly between genuine emotion and humour without cheapening the authentic feelings like other films have done in the past (looking at you, Deadpool).

The film also makes brilliant use of its 15 rating with an explosion of foul language and violence – but none of it gratuitous.  The fights are gritty, lively, and feature none of the signature lady-fighting technique synonymous with Black Widow that involves bringing a man down with her thighs around his face.  The women in this movie punch, brass-knuckle or bare-knuckle; they swing bats and break limbs, they smash windows and noses and get punched back themselves because they aren’t reduced to something pretty for the time of the fight; the fights are fun, but never feel fake.  There’s enough weight behind the combat scenes to carry each of them without losing the fun of watching them.  The Booby-Trap fight scene is the obvious standout, the title scene of the movie where we finally have everything the movie promised us delivered on perfectly, but there are so many others – Harley’s raid on the police station with the shotgun is another personal favourite.  And good news – rumours of Harley having an ex-girlfriend are in fact true!  Bisexual badass Harley Quinn takes centre-stage.

But speaking of Harley, this isn’t just her movie: I couldn’t review this film without paying proper homage to the other characters.  Renee Montoya, a detective overshadowed when her partner took credit for her career-making case, watching him be captain while she never gets the respect she deserves.  For a movie with a cop as one of its leads I was surprised (very pleasantly) at the general tone the film takes towards the police (in colloquial terms, BoP said “fuck blue lives!” and I love it).  Renee’s a force to be reckoned with, a good heart in a bad city and she knows it. The film openly makes fun of how she speaks like an 80s cop movie, but only for the cheese of it all, because the intention behind the cheese, the desire to do good despite the rules, is what this film is all about and while I won’t spoil Montoya’s ending, I was ecstatic for her.  Oh, and did I mention she has an ex-girlfriend who appears multiple times in the movie?  Dinah Lance, Black Canary, is an iconic heroine of DC.  A crime lord’s club songbird with a bite, she clearly has a rough history with police and a lot of mistrust, but there’s a heart of gold beneath it all and she breaks all the rules she’s set for herself to save an innocent life.  Dinah also gets to show off her powers in a fight and it does not disappoint.  Lastly of the Birds, we have Huntress.  A mystery for much of the movie, she’s a lot of motorcycling around and mysteriously killing people for reasons unknown. However, when she does join the gang and come into the light, she’s incredible.  A ruthless assassin with not great people skills which make her formidable but adorably awkward as well, her character realistically reminds the audience that childhood trauma can indeed make superheroes – but that doesn’t magically undo the fact that it is, in fact, trauma.  Her interactions with Cassandra Cain are touching and she’s a fascinating case of someone with no real stake in the affairs that all the other characters are caught up in but takes a stand regardless because it’s the right thing to do.  Also, all these ladies are in fact very beautiful and powerful and kickass and I am very gay.

Cassandra makes the last of the protagonists and she doesn’t let her young age or small stature make her seem any smaller against her co-stars.  Fabulously cast and brilliantly acted, Cassandra is a little shit that people can’t help but take a liking to, but also very much a child in a frightening world who has no idea what she’s gotten mixed up in.  I can’t lie, it’s also very refreshing to see a kid being played and acted like a damn kid, not a thirty-year-old in a schoolgirl skirt.  The Booby-Trap fight where the Birds and Harley are furiously fighting dozens of goons whilst working to protect Cassandra is a really powerful scene, not just for the technicolour girl-power but also because the sight of women working together to protect a young girl in ways they themselves could not be protected is…*chef’s kiss*.

I don’t want to spoil any more than I may already have done, but the villains are phenomenal.  Ewan McGregor does an amazing job with Black Mask, terrifyingly unstable and violent, yet so entertaining at the same time. Also, queer-coded (or canon, if you take McGregor’s own words on the matter) villains are absolutely no issue with me when at least two of our main cast of incredible ladies are queer on screen in this movie (and yes, imo, the bad guys are gay your honour).

Conclusion:

A supernova of harlequin madness and an absolute resounding triumph.  Birds of Prey is everything we needed when Suicide Squad’s own neon-painted violence failed to live up to its potential.  The movie is vividly coloured and non-stop fun.  It’s lurid, violent, and perfectly Harley.

There seems to be something about heat so sweltering it turns oppressive that can drive you half-mad. If this be true then readers, beware this book, for the heat of summer 1976 rises steadily off the pages and hangs stagnant around your head.  What you might initially take to be a Nanny McPhee situation – a family of lots of bored children headed by a single parent in a ramshackle old house – takes on a distinctly horrifying tone from the first pages, as we open on two young girls picking through dusty old dresses found in some forgotten box, and one experiences strange sensations (and a painful pinch) that can’t possibly be real.  From there, moving furniture, missing objects and hails of marbles bring paranormal investigators to the house, and things only get darker.

Masterfully interweaving the past and the present in alternating chapters, Mason brings the tension up and up, wrenching her terrified readers from the 1976 heatwave to a chilly October in the present day and back again, as we see where the characters are now and glimpses of where they once were, slowly unveiling themselves page by page. The rising hysteria I felt within my chest as the novel dragged me along, terrified and almost unwilling, was mirrored by its characters, as I got the feeling that no one was telling me everything they knew, that the truth was far stranger – and far more frightening – that anything I was prepared for.

The thing about trauma is, it’s so often compared to darkness when in reality it’s more like the sun: you can’t look at it head-on.  The flashes of the past that The Wayward Girls gives you as it draws you into its chilling world of paranormal activity and dysfunctional family relationships leave you with the distinct impression that the story is being told to you only in your peripheral, and by the time it came around to face you it would be too late.  Too late for what, you ask?  I didn’t know.  Part of this book’s absolute magic is its ability to give you the sense of something inexorably approaching with no clear understanding of what it actually is; just the sense of rising panic.

(I was right.  It was terrifying.  I won’t spoil it for you, but I did not see the end coming and it left everything turned on its head).

Verdict:

When I was young, my mum showed me a photograph from an album: a cat on a lawn.  The cat was hers.  The lawn was dead – a sea of brittle yellow prickles.  The photograph was dated summer, 1976.  It was a strange, alien world, where the hottest sun – arguably the worst of all weather – was inescapable.  The summer of 2018, my family spent four days in Naples, seeing the sights and exploring the ruins.  Here, I understood that photograph.  It was hot enough to drive me insane, the need to claw my skin off and crawl into the ocean for some respite never far from my mind.

Into all of these memories comes Water Shall Refuse Them.  This novel is a true horror story, more so than any jumpscare-fest or slasher flick you may find on the big (or small) screen. Grief, madness, violence and death hang heavy on every page, shimmering like mirages in the ever-present heat.  Sixteen-year-old Nif has moved to a little village in the Welsh borders with her family for the summer, trying to escape the grief of her sister’s death.  Her mother copes by withdrawing into Valium and numbness.  Her father is trying to hold himself together.  Nif has the Creed, a series of rituals and balancing acts to keep the energy of the world turning as it should.  As someone who has been fascinated with dead things all my life, and who has recently taken a turn into witchcraft, it took very little to get me hooked on the Creed, its demands and relics.

I could write a hundred assignments for my professors on this book, shameless English Lit student that I am.  There’s a thousand things to be said for the little village totally cut off from the world, no radio or television or anywhere to buy a newspaper.  I could spend hours discussing the symbolism of birds, the way their respective superstitions bestow destinies on the people who witness them – and the violence and cruelty with which many of them meet their ends.  Mostly, however, I would spend eternity on the thing that the novel’s title draws you back to again and again: water.

Water runs through the novel like a bloodstream, connecting meetings of key characters, births and deaths, violence and passion.  Water is the one thing that the characters always lack: streams dried up, hosepipe bans enforced, water supplies cut off altogether; yet it is the one thing that pursues them always, cleansing, killing, healing.  The title came back to haunt me throughout, with its ties to religion within both its genre as Gothic and within the story itself.  Water is, as Nif points out in the novel’s climax, “a baptism”.  It was a witch’s trial in medieval Britain, and still today serves to cleanse sins and induct people into religion.  As the novel slithers doggedly through the heat towards its hair-raising, spine-chilling climax, the question returned again and again to me: who does the water refuse?  Who is deemed worthy of cleansing, and who is left out in the heat?

Verdict:

A deliciously cruel story with enough teeth to make your hair stand on end.  The masterful ratcheting of tension, interspersed with outbursts of heart-stopping violence, leave some unsettling questions about just what each character may be capable of.  For all its witchcraft and superstition, at its core is a truly human horror.  You may see the conclusion coming but guessing the twist in no way prepares you for the way it tears through you, leaving you helpless in its wake with a racing heart, staring blankly at the back cover.

Detective Pikachu is a sheer delight, a love letter to every Pokémon fan who ever closed their eyes and wished their battle-ready team of all their favourites could appear in front of them.  Seeing Pokémon come to life and be exactly how they’re supposed to is such a weirdly emotional existence; I almost cried because Pikachu has little whiskers.  I’m not going to pretend I’ve been there from the very beginning – my first console was a DS Lite and my first core game was Platinum when I was about 9 – but I’ve been hooked since I first got my hands on the series and my love has just grown more and more as I’ve gotten older.  It’s a beautiful system of numbers and statistics; it’s a fun adventure; it’s an immersive world of unique levels of connection.

Detective Pikachu sees us.  It sees those who love Pokémon and says here, this is for you.  This is what you’ve waited for all this time, for so long.  And we take it with both hands because it’s everything our hearts want.  What really sold this movie for me was that, despite the copious amounts of nostalgia it plays on – I’d say upwards of 80% of the Pokémon that appear are Gen 1, from Mewtwo to the Kanto starters – it also works Pokémon from across generations into its worldbuilding, such as Comfey, Morelull, Torterra and Greninja.  These later-Gen Pokémon make the film feel more like a tribute to the world of Pokémon as a whole, rather than just a heavy indulgence for 90s kids who were there at the beginning (though I recognise it does this too); putting Bouffalant on a rural farm when you could have easily chosen Tauros just made me smile because this movie is more than a nostalgia-fest for those who were there when Red and Blue launched.

I massively appreciate the movie’s dedication to making this feel like a functioning Pokémon world, rather than lifting religiously from the games and anime.  One thing I noticed was the distinct lack of more anime-like moments, such as catching Pokémon: though we open with an attempt to capture a Pokémon like we would in the core game series, the iconic Poké Balls actually make very few appearances because they’re a dynamic that works better in anime than in a live-action movie. Also, as a Brit I definitely appreciated Ryme City, being a clear cross between London and Tokyo (I see you, Tube signs and The Gherkin being fused with Pokémon’s Japanese roots).

In terms of plot: yes, it’s a little simple (and by ‘a little’ I mean ‘a lot’), and there’s more than enough convenient moments used to push it forward that almost make you say “um, how many of these lumps of information are you planning to drop in front you our characters?” but it doesn’t freaking matter.  This movie wasn’t about its plot, its characters, its themes (though I appreciate the villainous roles of overreaching capitalist monopolies on an entire city).  This movie was about one thing and one thing only: seeing Pokémon in a real life situation, seeing Pokémon as if they could still be there when you walked outside, seeing Pokémon in a way that throws up the same colossal middle finger as Pokémon GO to the edgelords who pushed the “no, real Pokémon would be super DARK and TERRIFYING” for years.  I kind of saw the final twist coming (I was super aware of how we never saw Harry’s face, or even his hands) but honestly, who cares. I went there to see a real life Pikachu and god dammit I got one.

Verdict:

A tribute to the unique heart and soul of the Pokémon series, realised into a pseudo-realistic, functional world that made me vibrate with joy with every background Arcanine and casual Dodrio that happened across the screen.  Proof that a video game (and anime!) movie can be beloved if they just stick to what makes the source material great (looking at you, Sonic the Hedgehog, whose trailer embarrassingly preceded Detective Pikachu today).  This film is nothing short of a delight and it wants you to feel it with every inch of your Pokémon trainer heart.  Like Pokémon GO before it, it brings the joy of Pokémon a step closer to us and leaves reality sorely wanting.

Some of the biggest disappointments of the night for me have to be Rami Malek and Taron Egerton, who, having both just played some of the most iconic men in recent history who lived, breathed and ate the essence of camp, saw fit to turn up in black tuxes.  Taron’s was kinda sparkly though and I still respect the dude for his general lack of typical masculinity elsewhere (more men commenting “phwoar” on their mates’ Instagram, please).  Shout out to Frank Ocean who showed up looking like any bouncer you might find outside one of my local clubs on a Saturday night.  He collaborated with James Charles to prove that while some gays showed their best, others certainly did not.  The theme was CAMP, James Charles, and you still couldn’t deliver.

I appreciated the change in pace from Darren Criss and Harry Styles, but to be honest, Harry’s had camper looks in concert and Darren Criss…well, I loved his look, but it also took me a solid ten minutes to work out that it was him and not just Brendon Urie in his regular concert gear.  Glittery jackets and statement eyeliner do not a camp icon make, I’m afraid, though you certainly did better than so many others.

Kim Kardashian was certainly…there.  I’m impressed with the way she managed to make herself look like she’s just stepped out of the ocean butt-naked and dripping wet, but girl.  You’re rich as fuck.  There’s more than bodycon dresses out there.  Also please smack your husband, he’s a dick and he’s wearing a black tracksuit.  Kendall and Kylie were a little more flamboyant but honestly, they were single-colour knockoffs of things I would say you could find at a Rio street festival, except that would be an insult to Brazil and all the ways Rio festivals embody everything the Jenner looks were not.  And to be real with you?  For all the colour that was there, they were boring.  What is it with these women and being afraid to be #Iconique? It’s sad that all they seem to know how to do is emphasise their boobs and hips in dresses with very little fabric to try and be daring.  If they weren’t so rich and influential no one would pay them any mind because you can see the same look on anyone else.

While I don’t like Cardi B, I can appreciate her attempt to get into the spirit of the Met Gala, which she pulled off so well last year.  I only wish her skirt hadn’t ended up looking like rows of theatre seating.  Katy Perry was there as both a chandelier and a hamburger, which, while a step up from the Jenner-Kardashian contributions, leads me to wonder if she knows what ‘camp’ means, or if her foray into queer culture stopped once she was done appropriating sapphic sexuality for male consumption in 2008.  Special mention must go to Benedict Cumberbatch who saw fit to show up dressed like some bizarre visiting cousin of Colonel Sanders who maybe definitely owned a plantation.  It wasn’t a black tux but somehow I just wish it had been.

To get to the real stars of the night, I think it’s only fair to start off by saying this Met Gala was once again, Black Excellence.  I cannot BREATHE for the number of incredible, powerful black icons taking to the pink carpet in works of art.  Let’s begin, shall we?

Billy Porter showed up (and showed everyone else up) with six hot half naked slave dudes decked out in gold carrying him in on a black-and-gold chaise-lounge like a modern-day Cleopatra and, once he had both feet firmly on the floor, threw up the massive golden wings of Isis and owned the entire space around him.  The crown.  The wings. The copious gold sparkly shit. The gold bedazzled stuff on his face. Every other man should be ashamed of his failure to measure up to the king. Also every man in a tux found DEAD by the side of the road thanks to our Lord and Saviour Billy Porter.

If Billy Porter is the king, then surely, there are too many queens to choose from.  From Laverne Cox’s strikingly shaped black dress with her brilliant blue-white hair and statement makeup, to Lupita Nyong’o showing up in the full neon spectrum of the rainbow, black women showed up to take the crown every single time last night.  Janelle Monáe’s stunning artsy dress blew me away, from the Picasso-like features to the multitude of hats that I have no idea how she balanced, she’s a masterpiece.  Lizzo stepped out looking like the Empress of Flamingos and I am absolutely here for every second of it.  The colours are loud, bold, and the outfit is as large-as-life as Lizzo herself.  Her hair was so stunning, I swear I thought it was a crown at first.

Black hair certainly had a starring role on the red carpet as well, from Tessa Thompson’s insanely long braid (she was carrying a WHIP to complete her outfit RIP all wlw) to Lupita’s impressive afro with its many golden combs.  I adored Danai Gurira’s hair and especially loved her Oscar Wilde-inspired outfit: here is a woman who understands her brief and works from it to great effect, and I loved Keiynan Lonsdale’s gorgeous hair and butterfly gown – seeing him embracing his queerness with both arms since Love, Simon led him to come out has made my heart big.

I can’t move on from the black dominance and excellence of the night without mention of two of my favourite looks: Zendaya and Lena Waithe.  If Billy Porter is the king and there are too many queens to count, then Zendaya stands out yet again as the living, breathing princess of the lot of them. I can hear the white tears over black girl magic Cinderella from here.  She arrived in a whole Cinderella dress that expanded and glows from within, a pumpkin-carriage purse and her own fairy godmother to transform her with a little bibbity-bobbity-boo?  She even lost her damn glass slipper on the stairs. A true artist.  As they say in the LGBT+ community: um, wig.

Speaking of which: Lena Waithe.  The lesbian icon herself, who showed up to last year’s Catholic-themed Met Gala in a pride flag cape, and who went hell for leather this year as well, putting every man in a tux to shame by not only out-classing them in how fantastic she looked in her lilac suit, but also paying homage to the origins of camp, with the back of her jacket boldly stating “Black Drag Queens Invented Camp” and the pinstripes on the suit actually being cleverly displayed lyrics to iconic drag queen songs.  She really Did That yet again and I’m knocked dead.

This review is already long as hell and it’s about to get longer because there are more looks that I want to mention.

First of all: Lady. Fucking. Gaga.  My girl did four outfits on the pink carpet in the space of 15 minutes and holy shit did she kill it.  Starting out in a voluminous hot pink ballgown, followed by a more sedate but still impressive black one with a matching umbrella, then down to a slim hot-pink number, huge sunglasses, and statement telephone, and finally ending up in an iconic mesh and underwear set, all while sporting the most gorgeous gold false eyelashes that made the whole thing pop.  The creativity and flair of everything Gaga does has made her iconic throughout the years and this event was no exception.

Ezra Miller FUCKED IT UP. Pinstripe suit with the sweeping train, glittering cage corset on top and a myriad of imitation eyes all over his face, carrying an eerie mask of himself on a stick?  Phenomenal.  The confidence in his walk as he moved and the way he displayed his look was so striking and seeing him own it so much made my night.

I loved Jordan Roth’s take on Billy Porter’s wings, allowing him to show up as a literal whole theatre. I loved Ryan Murphy’s sparkling pink champagne tux and high-collared cape.  Florence Welch absolutely slayed in her glittering wing-collared cloak.

However, one of the standout looks for the night was Hamish Bowles.  The embodiment of camp, with that magnificent fur-trimmed patterned cape. The look is absolutely dominating even when he’s standing still, and when he moves, the whole thing comes alive. Watching some of the dynamic shots taken of him having fun with his outfit, I felt like I was watching a bullfighter in a lion’s mane – and all of that is good.  I can’t quite put my finger on why I felt he looked like a fabulous Mrs Doubtfire (maybe it’s the shoes) but the outfit was one of the best and definitely set a bar that so many men fell short of.

Final Words:

Captain Marvel has just edged out Black Panther as my new favourite Marvel movie.  It’s delightfully 90s – with a brilliant soundtrack to match – whilst also keeping the tone of its franchise throughout.  It’s funny, lighthearted and downright joyous at times, whilst never feeling like it’s trying too hard.

Honestly, the saddest thing about this movie is that I can always go on longer about things I dislike, meaning that this review will be tragically short.  One of the things I adore about Captain Marvel is the familiarity to other Marvel films, whilst playing with echoes of others as it goes: there’s spaceship chases through desert canyons a la Star Wars, and a government agent dealing with aliens for the first time in a very MiB way. Side note: seeing Nick Fury as the ‘new guy’ in lots of ways, looking young and fresh and with two functioning eyes whilst also being hilariously confused and baffled by all this new information coming his way, is fun and refreshing and adds a brilliant level of new depth to his character.

Carol Danvers is a delight to watch onscreen, and has hit the top of the list among my favourite Marvel characters, alongside the likes of Thor, Valkyrie, and everyone in Black Panther.  She’s smart and snarky, sweet and goofy and messy and a little disastrous at times, but she’s also a worthy new face to the MCU.

Goose and the Skrulls are fantastic, surprising side characters that provide endlessly intriguing and entertaining plot twists (Goose and his relationship with Fury in particular gives me strong MiB vibes).  Maria and Monica provide heart, warmth and fun, and I adore seeing Maria being a badass pilot and an amazing mother and friend – there’s a level of multi-dimensional power to her that makes her a joy to watch.  I loved seeing the relationships between the central women of this film: Carol and Maria, Maria and Monica, Carol and Lawson/Mar-Vell. There’s a lot of powerful women about, and like Black Panther before it, I feel that Captain Marvel is a step in the right direction for diversifying movies (which we seriously need).

On the subject of gender in this movie, it’s no secret that the MCU’s first female-led solo superhero movie would be leaning into the aspect of sexism, which has sent droves of antifeminists to Rotten Tomatoes to tank the ratings on a movie that hadn’t even been released yet.  From the initial trailer that transformed ‘her’ into ‘a hero’ and star Brie Larson’s hilarious response to men complaining that Captain Marvel didn’t smile in said trailer (she photoshopped smiles onto all the male superhero posters who, strangely, never got called out for their serious expressions), to the movie’s release yesterday on International Women’s Day, Captain Marvel isn’t afraid to hit back at sexism.  While there are many moments that show Danvers facing men who underestimate her (including one guy who claims she’ll never fly because “you know why it’s called a cockpit, right?”), one of my favourite moments is a more implicit moment of power. When Carol faces down Yon-Rogg for the last time, both gear up their powers, ready to fight, until he realises he can’t beat her with her “light show”, as he calls it.  He then demands that she proves herself to him in the same manner they used to spar together.  I very nearly whooped in the cinema when Carol calmly tells him that she doesn’t have to prove anything to him, blasting him 20 feet backwards into a desert cliff and then literally dragging him back across the desert, throwing him in his spaceship, and launching him off Earth.  Take note, everyone.  People everywhere will demand you prove yourself by aligning to their unnecessary criteria because they know they can’t beat you at your fullest.  Don’t cut bits off of yourself for them.  You owe them nothing.

On a final note: the Marvel opening credits, while initially seeming normal, quickly reveal that they have been altered to be a tribute to Stan Lee, with a final message of gratitude appearing right before the film begins.  My heart broke and was full at the same time.

The first Fantastic Beasts film was a lively, even colourful, delving into parts of the wizarding world we had never seen before. It carried its plot with confidence and purpose, and while it was technically a set-up film for the story of Grindelwald, he was barely in it and as such, the film is enjoyable in its own right.

The Crimes of Grindelwald is not Fantastic Beasts.  It’s desperately plot-heavy, introduces too many new characters for later films to allow itself to breathe, and ultimately is utterly unnecessary viewing, unless you are somewhat intrigued by how this franchise is going to end.

To begin with, I should talk about positives, to be fair.  The film has some very cool visuals and fun creatures, including the Zouwu, a long-bodied chimeric Chinese beast, some adorable baby Nifflers who are great fun to watch for the minutes they do have, and the majestic Kelpie.  I also liked the parallel of Grindelwald disposing of the Chupacabra at the beginning because it had served its purpose to him and Newt’s Niffler stealing the blood pact at the end.

Despite not liking the fact that Nagini is a presence, especially not one who seems dead set against Grindelwald – the films are going to have to do a lot of explaining if they want to believably pass off this character as Voldemort’s last Horcrux – I did like her character, and I only hope that they do more with her in future, as she seems to have joined up with the ‘good guys’ at the end.  I liked Leta and Theseus, how Theseus was more than just another Percy Weasley and how we had a complex, troubled, canonically Slytherin, yet still good, female character in Leta.  Her sacrifice and the brothers’ shared mourning was a touching moment, and I liked her darkness and how you were never sure if you could trust her.  The casting for Theseus Scamander (not to mention Young Newt) was also strikingly good.

Speaking of interesting female characters: Queenie.  While I will get to my criticisms of Queenie in this film later, I have to say I’m impressed.  In Fantastic Beasts we had a flighty, feminine character who was also a badass and used this in her own ways.  Crimes of Grindelwald gives us the potential for that character to be a really good villain, if only they’ll let her.  Queenie and Jacob’s relationship is over and I really hope she doesn’t go for any kind of redemption, because that would seriously undermine the choices she has made as a character; her final words about Credence’s uncertainty imply that she has no such second thoughts.  The heartbreaking parallel of “you’re crazy”, from an affectionate rebuffal of an overzealous, beloved girlfriend to the sorrowful letting-go of a woman you don’t know any more really proves to me that this relationship, while I don’t want it fixed, should be played with in future.  Queenie’s screaming shows that she’s pushing fanatical and I want to see that grow: a Legilimens is a powerful and dangerous ally.

Newt and Tina also had some good, sweet moments, and I was pleased to see how well they contrasted Newt’s past with his future.  Seeing Tina trust Newt’s experience with his magical creatures immediately was great, but what was even better was Tina – not Leta, Newt’s outcast, not-desk-job, slightly-wild childhood friend who held an injured baby raven with him once, but Tina – being the one to lure the Zouwu back into the case with the toy.  The moment where she understands the point he’s trying to make about her eyes looking like those of a salamander, and immediately takes it as he means it, is a small but precious way to demonstrate how well these two are aligned.

Moving onto the negatives, however…

The film is all over the place because it suffers in much the same way that I felt Avengers: Infinity War suffered: throughout the film you are constantly aware that this is flashy, sometimes emotional, seat-filler for the next film.  However, unlike Infinity War, Crimes of Grindelwald has none of the buildup and is being pulled in too many different directions with shock-value reveals such as Credence’s heritage.  There were so many out of character moments, right from the very start: why the hell did Queenie enchant Jacob?  We know it was to override his very real and valid concerns about losing her, but she was selfish and insidious with this and while it meant that her later actions all made sense, I didn’t feel like it lined up with the Queenie from the last film: the pink-slip-doll who made cocoa we knew from Fantastic Beasts is gone and while I understand that characters do bad things and allegiances change, this one was too much of a stretch for me. Also: where was Tina when Queenie turned bad?  That’s her damn sister, but I guess only Jacob cared?

Credence’s heritage also made little sense.  I don’t understand what the point of making him a Dumbledore is.  it’s clear the writers are reworking canon as they go along for the sake of making these films work, and the only way I feel they can be enjoyed is if you take them as a separate, but parallel canon to the Potter stories.  Otherwise, things just go out the window; Dumbledore is suddenly a DADA teacher, not Transfiguration, and there’s a secret Dumbledore brother even more secret than Aberforth was for all of the Potter books.  You try your damnedest to forget you’re watching Johnny Depp as Grindelwald, then he does something that makes you realise he is incapable of being anything but ‘Johnny Depp as [character]’ and suspension of disbelief is gone (”I hate Paris”).  The story suffers because it’s clearly got too much to pack in, and characters end up underused as a result.  The beasts are almost all entirely there to make for some good trailer material (the Kelpie in particular is pointless save for that one shot from the trailer).  I liked Yusef very much, but Credence wasn’t a Lestrange and Newt, Tina and Jacob all find their way to the Lestrange Tomb by other means, so he was ultimately unnecessary.  Nicholas Flamel shows up for some reason – I can only assume shock-value name-dropping, or he may become useful later on in the franchise, but other than that, I almost forgot he was there and when I remembered, I asked myself: “But why?”

Also, the decision to make McGonagall into a frumpy, stickler-for-the-rules schoolmistress was just. Bad.

Verdict:

Fantastic Beasts is a great movie that did not need a sequel, let alone a franchise.  While I loved many of the characters and am interested to see the (frankly frightening) parallels to the world today unfold over the rest of the films, I would advise you to stick to the original.  There are plenty of decent moments to keep you thinking the film was good, but these are temporary spikes where character that I (as a self-confessed major Potter fangirl) cared deeply about very quickly, are put in difficult situations.  The plot itself is, again, flashy seat-filler for the rest of the franchise, providing narrative advancement that will allow the sequels to take place.  Like Infinity War, it suffer from clearly being a long but frustratingly necessary narrative setup for a conclusion.  Unlike Infinity War, however, it doesn’t have ten years of buildup and anticipation to carry it.  It’s an unnecessary rehash of canon that nobody cared enough about in the first place to ask for.  Despite this, I will grant that, wherever the sequel(s) go, they have plenty of material to work with, even if I don’t think they’ll pull it off.